


Horrible Delicacies of Thedas

by 3jarsofbees



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, Dalish cuisine, Fluff, M/M, Orlesian cuisine, Sometimes nature is gross, Tevinter cuisine, who made this idiot inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jarsofbees/pseuds/3jarsofbees
Summary: "Romance, he says. As if I could possibly beromancedby a man who thinks it's acceptable to pluck living things from the dirt and stuff them into his face."It would seem a high-class fellow from Tevinter and a Dalish elf from the woods have slightly different understandings of what constitutes "cuisine." Well, no matter -- that doesn't stop them from exploring the many culinary worlds of Thedas.... some more horrible than others.(actually just an excuse for dumb banter honestly)





	

* * *

**I. THE DELICACIES OF NATURE**

"Do not put that in your mouth," Dorian said.

"What?" Lavellan turned about, raising the sprig of chickweed that was between his fingers. "This?"

"Yes, that. I saw you take it from the ground. It's probably covered in filth."

Lavellan gazed at Dorian for a moment, then slowly, nonchalantly, began to open his mouth, hovering the chickweed closer to it.

"I said don't. Don't do it. _Honestly_..."

Looking Dorian right in the eyes, Lavellan shoved the chickweed into his mouth, then chewed it with unnecessary satisfaction.

"Good. Wonderful. Good for you," Dorian said. "How many insects do you imagine have wiped their terrible feet on that thing?"

"I'm... not even sure if insects have feet. Would you call them 'feet'? It's not like they have ankles and toes..."

"Yes, by all means, let us focus on that as our primary concern here."

Lavellan laughed. "Why are you concerned at all?"

" _You_ are the one who should be concerned," Dorian said. "After seeing you do that, do you honestly expect me to ever go near your mouth again?"

"Really? I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I've been eating things from the ground since long before you showed up."

"Implying what? You've been surreptitiously smuggling dirt and insects into my mouth this whole time?"

"Yes, Dorian. Our entire romance has been an elaborate ruse." Lavellan picked another sprig of chickweed and tossed it into his mouth.

Dorian scoffed. "Romance, he says. As if I could possibly be _romanced_ by a man who thinks it's acceptable to pluck living things from the dirt and stuff them into his face."

"Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you over the sound of how delicious this is."

"It can't possibly be delicious. If things were delicious right out of the ground, no one would have bothered to invent cooking."

"Well, it is," Lavellan said. "Perhaps you should try it..."

"No," Dorian said, as Lavellan stuck another sprig in his mouth, then attempted to approach Dorian with a meaningful grin, chewing all the while. "No! You stay away from me..."

"You mean you don't want to kiss me?" Lavellan asked, reaching his arms out.

"Ugh," Dorian said. He was shrunken back into a protective stance, half contemplating whether or not to cast a barrier. "Evidently this is my punishment for falling prey to the charms of a southern barbarian."

"So-o-o-o, you think I'm charming, do you?"

"I know. Can you imagine? I think that hole in time must have damaged my brain."

Lavellan laughed again. "Oh, come on, Dorian. What do I have to do to convince you?"

"Rinse your mouth out with brandy. At the _very_ least."

"No, I mean -- how can I convince you to actually try some?" Lavellan snatched up some fresh chickweed from the ground, then held it aloft between them.

Dorian eyed the thing. It was green and weedy and raw and _natural_ and a further extensive list of unappealing adjectives. "You can't."

"Come now," Lavellan said, twirling the sprig between his fingers. "I hear every man has his price..."

Dorian studied him with narrowed eyes.

Lavellan smiled hopefully back.

"All right..." Dorian said. "You are going to rub my feet back at camp."

"What, is that all?"

" _And_ ," Dorian said, whipping up a finger, "you are going to do it in front of Blackwall, so he can feel both uncomfortable and threatened by the sheer manliness of our affections."

"That's not very nice of you," Lavellan said.

"I'm not a very nice man," Dorian said. "Do we have a deal or not?"

"Well... sorry, Blackwall -- it sounds like we have a deal."

"Wonderful. Now give me that wretched thing."

Lavellan handed the chickweed over. Dorian raised it to his face, frowning with pre-emptive disgust, studying it carefully for any signs of poisonous dirt -- then at last daintily popping it into his mouth, chewing it twice, and quickly swallowing it through a wince.

"Well?" Lavellan asked.

"I don't understand," Dorian said. "Where is the flavour? It's just fibrous rubbish."

"Seriously?" Lavellan said. "This is nature's bounty, Dorian! Doesn't it taste amazingly fresh? Like rain in the sunshine? Don't you feel like you've found a beautiful meadow hidden inside your mouth?"

Dorian had taken a full step backward. "I'm sorry, _what?_ Are you all right? Did you hit your head on something?"

"Pfft," Lavellan said. "Fine. Forget it. It doesn't matter. I've already gotten what I wanted out of this."

"Which is what?"

Lavellan wound his arms around Dorian's neck, smiled up at him, and said, "Insect feet -- all over your mouth."

"Ugh. Please don't remind me."

"Come on," Lavellan said, getting on his toes, leaning in closer, as Dorian leaned progressively backward. "Kiss me."

"No."

"Kiss me, Dorian."

"No!"

"Both our mouths are tainted! You have to kiss me now!"

"I said _brandy first!_ "

* * *

**II. THE DELICACIES OF TEVINTER**

"It's strange how Val Royeaux always seems so deserted," Lavellan said as they strolled through the Summer Bazaar.

"Of course it's deserted," Dorian said. "It's the middle of the afternoon. The entirety of Orlesian society is currently busy either being crushed under an oppressive boot-heel or taking a dignified nap in the shade." And then he stopped on a dime outside a store window. "Hello!"

"Hi?"

"Dulcis victoria!"

"...Sorry?" Lavellan said. "What's that? Were those words?"

"Dulcis victoria," Dorian repeated patiently. "It literally means 'sweet victory.' A bit presumptuous on the part of the baker, but otherwise--"

"Dorian?" Lavellan said. "Explain harder."

Dorian indicated the window in front of them. "Right here. It appears this enterprising shop has wisely stocked some of the best dessert Tevinter has to offer, and now I am staring at it through this window and feeling prideful and touch homesick. Is that a satisfactory explanation?"

"Very much. Thank you." Lavellan came up next to Dorian, peering through the glass at the display of desserts. "What does it taste like?"

"You've never tried it? What am I saying, of course you haven't... Wait here, my dear. This cannot stand..."

They found a little table outside in the sunshine, where Dorian set down a plate of them: doughy golden balls, sprinkled with nuts and herbs and black pepper and lashed with some gooey drizzle.

In determining these facts, Lavellan had leaned all the way forward, nearly touching the plate with his nose. "What is this, exactly?"

"Try it," Dorian said. "You tell me."

Lavellan impolitely stuck his finger onto the plate, sweeping up some of the drizzle, sampling it. Honey, of course...

Dorian grinned at him. "Try a whole one, how about? You have my permission."

Lavellan picked up one of the balls, glancing at Dorian uncertainly, and then stuck it in his mouth. 

It was dense and chewy and sweet and spicy and honey-soaked and _unbelievable._ It was a tiny explosion of flavours. It was too many flavours for Lavellan to even grasp. It was so sweet he felt his whole mouth might dissolve -- but, in a good way, though. 

Lavellan's eyes were getting progressively wider through this series of revelations. "What... How... What even goes _into_ this?"

"Oh, what was it -- nuts, pepper, chicory, honey, citrus... some sweet wine..."

"Fuck me," Lavellan said. He slumped all the way forward, laying his cheek on the table, staring right at the plate. "Cancel the Inquisition. We're going to Tevinter."

"You know, it's a very ancient recipe -- Corypheus might actually be familiar. So I'm sure he'd understand..."

"What if we just pelt him with these?" Lavellan asked, picking up another one. "Maybe that would cheer him up?"

"It's worth a shot," Dorian said. "Who could be in the mood to tear apart the heavens after a spot of dessert?"

"Only a psychopath," Lavellan said. He jammed the second ball into his mouth, chewing it languorously, closing his eyes. "How is it so _sweet?_ How does sweetness like this exist? My entire body feels funny."

"Oh dear," Dorian said. "I seem to have broken the Inquisitor."

"Fuck the Inquisitor," Lavellan said. "I just eat these now. That's my new job."

"Well, I am glad you like it, but before you go burning all of your bridges, didn't you have some minister to meet with...?"

"No."

Dorian leaned back in his chair for a moment, studying Lavellan's wilting form. "You know what, Amatus... I am beginning to suspect that your lifetime of hardy natural cuisine might not have prepared you to handle this much sugar."

" _You're_ not prepared," Lavellan said. "For... something. I don't know. I love you."

"Quite," Dorian said, suppressing a grin. "Come along, let's get you sorted out before you ruin your important meeting. Perhaps you can run a few laps around the market... or just dunk your head in a fountain..."

Lavellan looked up from the table with a wide-eyed stare, hooking a finger on the rim of the plate. "Can I bring these?"

"...Let me take those," Dorian said. "You can have another after your meeting... I promise."

Lavellan frowned at him and muttered, "Sugar tyrant..."

"If that's not your newest term of endearment for me," Dorian said, picking up the plate and holding it safely out of Lavellan's reach, "then I will be unspeakably disappointed."

* * *

**III. THE DELICACIES OF THE DALISH**

Dorian was more than used to watching Lavellan pointlessly grab things from the ground and tuck them into his pockets, so he didn't question it at first when Lavellan began amassing an unusual quantity of herbs and roots and mushrooms. When he halted their return to camp for the night in order to stalk a ram, however, the group's collective eyebrows began to go up.

"Is this necessary?" Cassandra asked.

"Shhh," Lavellan said.

Cassandra, Dorian and Solas watched from a distance, nonplussed, as Lavellan swiftly ambushed the ram and killed it with a dagger. As they headed back over to his side, they saw him murmur something in Elven over the ram's body, then turn to efficiently butchering it.

"Honestly, why?" Dorian asked. "Why are we doing this?"

"Weren't you just complaining to me about 'night after night of dreary Ferelden mush'?" Lavellan asked. "Well, worry no longer. I'm going to fix it."

"You mean you... just murdered an innocent creature... to address my trifling complaints about dinner?" Dorian said. "I hate to admit it, but this might be the most romantic thing that's ever happened to me."

Lavellan grinned up at him over the ram's exposed ribcage -- his forearms were covered in blood, and a spurt of it had ended up on his cheek. "Oh, sure. Romantic. That's me."

"Well, red is the colour of love, as they say..."

Solas said, "It is always good to make do with what you have, I suppose."

"Precisely," Dorian said. "Backwoods southern romance. This is my lot in life now."

"Clearly you love it," Lavellan said, as he returned to hacking away at the ram corpse.

Back at camp -- after Dorian had firmly wiped the blood off Lavellan's face with a handkerchief -- he sat by the fire and watched as Lavellan tended to a simmering pot.

"I didn't even know you had this ability," Dorian said. "Look at you! So industrious."

"Oh, sure. You don't get away with not having these skills in a Dalish camp," Lavellan said. "But, fair warning, I don't think this will be particularly good... Hard to concentrate on finding the right ingredients when you're being attacked every five minutes." 

"Amatus, that you made the effort at all is enough. I appreciate it. Besides... it'll be fun. Learning what you savages eat in the woods." 

Lavellan smirked. "Actually, this isn't your average dish I'm attempting here. It's a rather sacred meal -- meant only for special occasions. I honestly can't imagine what my Keeper might say if she knew I was cooking it purely for a human man I intend to have sex with." 

"Sacrilege!" Dorian said. "Now it's even more fun."

When at last it was ready, Lavellan spooned them out two rich, meaty bowlfuls. He tasted it first, then frowned with displeasure. "Mm.... no. Sorry, it's definitely not right."

Dorian tried a spoonful of his, reacting with genuine surprise: "No, love, this is _good!_ I can't believe you actually made this out of those disgusting bits of nature you collected between stabbing Venatori." 

"See? Nature has its uses... It's meant to taste better than this, though. I didn't get it quite right." 

"It's the best thing I've had in weeks! Honestly," Dorian said. He called over to their companions: "Are you two not going to try this? You really ought to..."

Cassandra and Solas joined them at the fireside, then, gratefully taking bowls of their own. "This is very kind of you, Inquisitor. I appreciate it," Cassandra said.

"Not at all. It was sort of a fun diversion..."

Solas inspected his bowl for a moment, then looked up with a half-smile. "Interesting that you would choose to make this, of all things." 

"Oh, no," Lavellan said. "I forgot. You'll be able to tell how bad it is." 

"I am sure it is fine, Lethallin. I just thought you Dalish saved this dish for celebrations. I am a little surprised that you would make it on a day of no particular significance." 

"He's celebrating _me_ ," Dorian said. "That's extremely significant." 

"Ugh," Cassandra said.

"...And yet here I am kindly sharing the spoils with you," Dorian said. "You're welcome, incidentally."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes and said, flatly, "Thank you, Dorian. You are incredibly magnanimous, deigning to share the hard work that someone else did for you."

"I know," Dorian said. "Sometimes I astound even myself."

"Hm," Cassandra said. "You do know that you can leave him at any time, Inquisitor?"

"No you can't. Don't listen to her."

Lavellan laughed. "Oh no? What would happen if I tried?"

"War with Tevinter, probably," Dorian said. "Nasty business."

"Oh, well, then," Lavellan said. "Sounds like my hands are tied, Cassandra. Diplomacy demands it."

"I do not understand them," Cassandra said, looking at Solas. "Do you understand this?"

"I certainly understand when not to share my opinions, yes," Solas said.

"Wise man!" Dorian said. "Now pipe down and eat your dinner, children. The secret ingredient is sacrilege."

Cassandra looked up with a hint of genuine concern. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh... Dalish sacrilege, I mean. Not a problem for you, I'm sure."

"Just... Don't listen to him," Lavellan said.

"I would not dream of it," Cassandra said.

* * *

**IV. THE DELICACIES OF ORLAIS**

Dorian had been enjoying a devastatingly good glass of the finest wine the Winter Palace had to offer, all the while savouring the scandalized and disgusted glances of Orlesian nobles as they caught sight of him boldly existing in their midst, when he noticed Lavellan stalking his way. "Well, hello there!"

"Stand over here with me," Lavellan said quietly. "I just need to speak with someone _normal_ for two seconds."

"Not a fan of this little soirée, I take it?" 

"No, I'm not! Why is everyone so invested in this 'Game'? I don't understand it at all. Leliana and Josie bang on like it's the most complicated business in the world, but as far as I can tell it just boils down to answering every question with another question. It's like I'm in a room of people with horrible head injuries that stop them from composing a _straightforward fucking sentence_."

"Easy now," Dorian said. "Relax. Try being more drunk. That always helps...."

"Please tell me you aren't getting too drunk," Lavellan said. "We may need to defend ourselves later."

"Oh, honestly. You think I can't do impressive magic when I'm drunk? It's like you don't know me at all..."

" _Inquisitor!_ " it came from behind them, in perhaps the most grating iteration of the Orlesian accent Dorian had heard that evening, which was saying something, really. Lavellan cringed with every fibre of his being, then turned slowly around to behold a waiter with a tray of...

Something. Jellied something? Possibly on a wafer.

"Another _hors d'oeuvre_ for you, Monsieur," the man said. "Please, I would be honoured if you tried it. We call this one _la petite tour de désespoir_."

"I... thank you," Lavellan said, and reluctantly he reached out and took one -- it was some kind of thin cracker, stacked with grey paste and some leaves and a glob of grainy, translucent, jellied matter that quivered like it was afraid of being eaten. Lavellan studied it for a moment, then said, "Why, Lord Pavus, this looks like it would be just to your tastes. Won't you try one as well?"

"Oh, by all means, Monsieur!" the waiter said, half-bowing, holding the tray out Dorian's way.

"Yes," Dorian said, taking one. "Quite. Thank you ever so much."

They stood there, holding their wiggling hors d'oeuvres, waiting for the waiter to depart. Unfortunately, he was smiling expectantly at them, rooted in place.

"Oh... right now?" Dorian asked.

"I do not mean to rush you, Monsieur," the waiter said, "but I am afraid _la petite tour de désespoir_ does not keep very long in the hand before it begins to, er, how do you say it -- decompose?"

"...Well, then," Lavellan said. "On three?"

"Ah, yes!" the waiter said, straightening up, as if he had been waiting his whole life to be summoned for this duty: " _Un, deux, trois!_ "

Dorian and Lavellan exchanged a final glance, to the effect of _I love you, I'm sorry for everything_ , and then they threw their hors d'oeuvres down the hatch.

Lavellan's entire body immediately went stiff. Dorian wheeled around and took a deep swig from his wine glass. "Oh -- just -- what a wonderful accompaniment to this Antivan red..."

"Well?" the waiter asked eagerly. "What do you make of it, Inquisitor? Our chef will be full with suspense for your opinion!"

For a moment, Lavellan was stock-still. Whatever was presently in his mouth, it provided an incredible mixture of grit and slime and bitterness -- with a note of apple. Purely for the reason that he couldn't bear to have it in his mouth one second longer, Lavellan summoned every ounce of willpower he had and forced himself to swallow the thing, feeling it slither down his throat like some form of malicious slug.

"That," Lavellan said. "That... is certainly... the foremost example of... that thing... that I have ever tasted."

"Oh, wonderful, Monsieur, wonderful! I shall inform the chef _tout de suite!_ " At last, the waiter sped off, leaving them to subtly gag into the shrubbery.

" _Fenedhis_ ," Lavellan managed. "Why!"

"I can't forgive you," Dorian gasped. "I will never forgive you!"

"I can't believe I swallowed that," Lavellan said, clutching his stomach. "I think I can feel it laying eggs in there."

"Oh, Maker, don't say that. What an image..."

"Ugh," Lavellan said. "Seriously, does your stomach suddenly hurt, or is it just mine?"

"I... didn't swallow it," Dorian said. Only then did Lavellan notice how Dorian was gazing mournfully into his glass. "I spit it into my wine."

Lavellan's mouth fell open. "No. You're a genius."

"Am I?" Dorian asked bitterly. "It was incredible wine. I have just _ruined_ an entire glass of _incredible wine._ "

"I'll get you a new one, I promise."

"Considering you just roped me into all that?" Dorian said. "Six of them. At the _very least._ "

* * *

**V. THE DELICACIES OF THE DALISH -- HARD MODE**

After a long day of trekking across the Exalted Plains, no one wanted to do anything more than get back to camp, sit down and take their boots off. So when Lavellan told them he just wanted to take a detour to check in on the Dalish clan by the river, everyone groaned.

"They are fine and stupid, just like yesterday," Sera said.

Lavellan couldn't help it -- with the troubles his own clan was facing, far out of his immediate reach, he felt the need to protect this wayward group of his people as best he could. Even when that meant picking bundles of spindleweed that they really should have been able to find by themselves. 

"You all go on ahead, then," Lavellan said. "I'll be after you in a bit."

Dorian sighed. "Oh, very well. I'll come with you."

"Really? You don't need to..."

"And leave your back unguarded? Not when I know full well how many people would enjoy seeing your head on a pike." Dorian swatted Lavellan, like he was spurring on a horse. "Lead the way, you lovely and exhausting person."

With the tired state of their legs, even Lavellan had to admit that the journey over to the Dalish camp was quite the slog. So when the offer of hospitality was extended, the both of them had accepted it gratefully.

"You have done so much for us, Da'len," the Keeper said. "Please, stay a while. We would be honoured if you and your companion would share in our supper."

"How about that?" Dorian had asked Lavellan with a smile. "It seems good deeds are rewarded after all."

They had taken a much-needed seat, pulling their boots and socks off with relief, as was the Dalish way. At first, Lavellan had been feeling a bit smug about how much farther the rest of their companions would have to walk before they got any supper. That is, until he caught sight of what the elves of this clan were preparing for them, at which point his eyes widened with alarm.

Lavellan grabbed Dorian's sleeve before he could think about it. "Um -- Dorian..."

"Hmm?"

Lavellan studied Dorian's face for a moment, his heart beating fast with discomfort. If he told Dorian the truth, what were the odds his man of refined tastes would knuckle down and be polite? Even if he managed to eat what was offered, surely his disgust would show all over his face... And here the clan was already breaking with tradition by inviting a human to their fire. The whole thing could turn into an offensive disaster.

So Lavellan leaned into Dorian's ear and whispered, "Just -- don't ask what's in the food."

Dorian was instantly suspicious. "What? Why not? What's wrong with it?"

"Oh -- uh -- nothing," Lavellan said. "I mean, it's just a stew, but... it's considered rude among my people to ask after a stew's ingredients. It would be -- uh, how to explain this... It would be taken as a... criticism. Of the clan's gathering skills, you see." 

Thankfully, Dorian's suspicion had now melted down into mild interest. "Oh, really? Thank you, I wouldn't have known."

"Mm-hm," Lavellan said. _I am a horrible person._

He wasn't sure what to feel as he watched Dorian eat his bowl of stew. There was a moment he could swear Dorian froze, looking slightly baffled -- no doubt he'd felt one of them pop and squish between his teeth... But then, after a moment, Dorian had continued to dutifully eat his meal and didn't ask any questions.

Pride. Definitely, Lavellan was feeling a swelling sense of pride. And a whole mess of guilt.

He could barely even look at Dorian for the rest of the meal. Once they'd finally set out on the path back to the Inquisition camp, the moment the tips of the Dalish aravels had disappeared from sight, Lavellan blurted it right out: "Dorian, I'm sorry. I lied to you." 

"Did you now! About what?" 

"It's not rude to ask the Dalish about their ingredients," Lavellan said -- Dorian stopped and turned back now, shooting him a puzzled look. "I made that up. I just didn't want you to know, because--" 

"No," Dorian said, a look of horror dawning over his face. "Oh, no. Amatus, _no!_ " 

"I'm really sorry. I'm so sorry..." 

"Do I even _want_ to know what we just ate? Was it insects? Beetles? Please tell me it wasn't beetles..." 

"Not... exactly..." 

Dorian grabbed Lavellan by the collar, pulling him in close: "How... can something.... be _'not exactly' beetles?_ " 

Lavellan rolled through the sentence slowly, seeking a way out of it even as the inevitable truth spilled out of his mouth: "Becaaaause... it was... just their llllllarvae...?" 

" _No!_ " Dorian howled, and he rather dramatically fell to his knees. It seemed he might be contemplating vomiting, though eventually he settled for clutching his face in his hands and muttering, "Oh, Maker, they're inside me right now..."

Lavellan got down next to Dorian on the ground, putting his hands on Dorian's shoulders. "I am so, so sorry, love... But, er, look, listen -- I'm really proud of you, honestly. I mean, you ate it, right? You ate it and it wasn't that bad. You did wonderfully."

"That makes it worse!" Dorian said. "I ate it and it wasn't that bad. I am a man who is _all right_ with eating beetle larvae. _I am not prepared to be that kind of man._ " 

"There, there," Lavellan said, patting his back. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Dorian was now moaning with anguish into his palms. "This is your fault... You do realize you can never leave me now? I forbid it. We are stuck with each other. Because Maker knows I can't ever force any _normal_ person to deal with my horrible beetle-filled mouth."

Lavellan cracked a smile, placing his chin on Dorian's shoulder. "Oh... don't worry. I love your horrible beetle-filled mouth." 

"Don't you dare enjoy this, you cretin."

* * *

**VI. THE DELICACIES OF THEDAS -- LIQUID EDITION**

"Oh," Dorian said, as he watched Lavellan drop to one knee in front of the cabin's door. "We're doing this again, are we?"

"Shh," Lavellan said.

"It's not his fault, everyone," Dorian announced to no one in particular as Lavellan carefully inserted his lockpick into the keyhole. "The Dalish don't understand anything about trespassing. They don't even have walls out there."

With a click of success, Lavellan pushed the door open. "I said shut up."

"Why would you possibly want me to shut up? I'm just explaining how it's _not_ your fault that you're a barbarian."

Lavellan had already walked confidently into the cabin, looked around, and grabbed a bottle from the table. He turned back to Dorian, raising it. "Do you want me to share this with you or not?"

"Point taken," Dorian said. "It's not more Grey Warden swill, is it? I might literally die."

Cassandra was simply watching this unfold with narrowed eyes, attempting to work out with scientific accuracy exactly how much of this nonsense would be covered by the Maker's forgiveness.

"No..." Lavellan examined the label closely, squinting. "It's... 'Absence.'"

"It's pronounced 'absinthe.'"

"Yes, but it says 'Absence.'"

Dorian came closer and peered over Lavellan's shoulder. "I... huh. How about that."

"Well?" Cassandra asked. "Are we quite finished with this detour into criminal misconduct?"

"It's celebration drinks, Cassandra," Lavellan said, raising the bottle and grinning at her. "We're just keeping up morale here."

"He was not like this before he met you," Cassandra told Dorian. "I am holding you responsible."

" _What?_ " Dorian cried, clapping a hand to his chest. "Slander and rubbish. He's been unlawfully breaking and entering since the day I first laid eyes on his lovely hooligan face."

"And long before that, actually..." Lavellan said.

"I do not need to know about this," Cassandra said. "Let us just go, shall we..."

The Absence was welcomed with much more enthusiasm back at camp, where Sera and Varric eagerly joined them by the fireside.

"Oh, is this that drink that makes you see weird stuff?" Sera asked, peering at the label.

"We'll find out shortly, I expect," Dorian said. "Also, our beloved Inquisitor may have committed a crime to obtain this, so we should probably destroy the whole of the evidence, yes?"

"That's an awfully elaborate justification of your alcoholism there, Sparkler."

"Thank you, Varric. Much obliged."

They took turns passing it around and pouring poorly measured amounts into tin cups. Lavellan took the first sip, then shook out his face and said, "Oh! It feels like I'm being very sweetly punched in the mouth."

"Hmm, sweet, definitely," Dorian said. "And aggressive. A bit herbal... maybe... woody?"

" _Shite_ ," Sera gagged.

"Not as bad as I was expecting," Cassandra said. "Very complex. Also rather strong, however. We likely aren't meant to be drinking this straight, are we?"

"Yes, well, roughing it in the woods and all that," Dorian said. "What are you going to do..."

"Yet another excellent justification," Varric said. "You're on a roll tonight."

"What do you make of it, Varric?" Lavellan asked.

Varric took another reluctant sip, then said, "I think it's kind of like some licorice went rogue, joined the Carta, and got hired to kick you in the teeth."

"That doesn't make any sense," Cassandra said.

"Use your imagination, Seeker..."

"No," Sera said, "it tastes like a burning tree that got shoved up someone's arse."

"Hmm," Cassandra said.

"Oh, what, you think that makes more sense?" Varric asked.

"Somewhat," Cassandra said. "I think I can taste the burning tree. Though I am not certain about the.... arse."

"Oh, it's a big one, trust me," Sera said.

"Rave reviews, I see," Lavellan said. "Does that mean you don't want seconds?" And then four cups were held out to him at once.

**

The next morning, Varric was awoken by the toe of Cassandra's boot poking him between the ribs.

"We need to start moving, Varric," Cassandra said, looming over him, arms crossed. "Dawn was hours ago."

"Not now, Seeker," Varric groaned. "Can't you see that I'm busy having a hangover?"

Cassandra chuckled. "You, a lightweight? I would not have expected that."

"I'm _not._ You're just made of steel. That has nothing to do with me."

"Of course," Cassandra said, and she headed over to Sera's bedroll.

Sera's face wasn't visible; she was currently just a pile of lumps under a blanket. Once again, Cassandra took her toe and nudged the pile. All that emerged was: "ugh, get away. So many wasps..."

Cassandra walked over to Dorian and Lavellan, then. Lavellan had his entire head wrapped in his arms and seemed to have generally burrowed himself into Dorian's body, while Dorian was actually awake, gazing up into the heavens with a look of anguish on his face.

"Inquisitor..." Cassandra began.

"No! Leave him be," Dorian said, throwing up a protective arm. "Spare him from the wretched hell that is being conscious."

Lavellan mumbled something incoherent, curling up even more tightly.

Cassandra had folded her arms again. "You are honestly telling me, after all that bluster, that none of you people can handle a bit of drink?"

"A _bit of drink?_ That was not a _bit_ of drink. That was pure distilled hangover in a bottle."

"Perhaps you should not have stolen it, then."

"Yes," Dorian groaned. "Horrible people, punishment befitting the crime and all that... Please, Cassandra, just get me some water. I am actually dying. I have found death's door. I am on the very precipice."

"I am not your mother, Dorian."

"Cassandra, please, I beg you! Out of the goodness of your heart. Doesn't the Chantry teach charity and kindness? Wouldn't the Maker want you to take pity on a hungover wretch of a man slowly dying in the wilderness?"

Cassandra sighed with exasperation, but she snatched up one of their discarded tin cups from the previous night, rinsed it out in the stream by their camp, filled it with water, and brought it back to him. "Here. I do hope you appreciate this."

"You're a lovely woman sometimes," Dorian said, reaching up for the glass with a bloodshot attempt at a winning smile. "Say... what about a spot of fruit? You could rustle something up for us, yes?"

Cassandra continued to stare at him, still holding onto his water, expression unchanging. "No."

"Oh, come on," Dorian said. "Here I am, your most beloved companion, suffering on the ground. Surely you won't just abandon me here."

"I already brought you water. I did not agree to anything about fruit."

"Water only goes so far. At some point you need sustenance. _Nutrients._ " He paused. "And, while you're at it, if you might be able to just peel it for me, that would be--"

Cassandra tipped the cup over and emptied the whole of it directly on Dorian's face.

Lavellan started awake, then, rubbing his eyes. "Rain? Is it raining?"

Dorian could barely breathe for sputtering outrage. " _Treason_ ," he gasped.

"You are welcome," Cassandra said, and she dropped the cup back in the dirt and stalked off.

Lavellan looked blearily over at Dorian, who had taken Lavellan's arm by the sleeve and was using it to wipe his face. "What happened?"

"Absence," Dorian said. "Absence happened. Never again."

Lavellan patiently waited for Dorian to finish with his sleeve, then said, "No, I mean what happened to you? You're all wet."

"It would seem Cassandra is devoid of all sympathy for poor suffering creatures like myself."

"Only when they choose to press their luck," Cassandra called back.

"Hmmm," Lavellan said, shutting his eyes again, burrowing back into Dorian's side. "It sounds like _someone_ would enjoy your...... absence."

"Ugh," was Cassandra and Dorian's unified response.

"New plan, Cassandra," Dorian said. "How about we team up and kill him instead?"

"I greatly disapprove," Lavellan muttered into Dorian's chest.

Cassandra said, "Would that be enough to actually get you out of bed?"

"Well, I thought you could do the physical killing. I might just lie here and cheer you on."

Cassandra shook her head. "Twenty minutes. In twenty minutes I want all of you up. _All_ of you."

Dorian sighed with disappointment, then snuggled in with Lavellan, distinctly not getting up. "Teamwork is dead, it seems."

Lavellan opened one unimpressed eye. "This, coming from the teammate who just proposed to have me killed?"

"Yes," Dorian said. "My point exactly."

**Author's Note:**

> After our heroes suffered through a few [questionable Orlesian pastries](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9505646/chapters/21504509), intrepid [dawnpainterz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnpainterz/pseuds/dawnpainterz) suggested that these two should have further food-tasting adventures. And now this thing exists. Be careful what you wish for, is what I'm saying.
> 
> ALSO: Look at [this beautiful art](https://3jarsofbees.tumblr.com/post/162900689917/you-mean-you-dont-want-to-kiss-me-just-look) of THE DELICACIES OF NATURE by [KuroCyou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroCyou) a.k.a. [kurogoesinthedas.tumblr.com](http://kurogoesinthedas.tumblr.com/)! I can't even deal.
> 
> AND: [Read this story in Italian here!](http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3693683&i=1)


End file.
